Flip through the latest issue of Gulf Weekly.
Charity champion Sarah Clarke, 43, who lives near Hamala and teaches autistic youngsters how to cook, has just completed an incredible challenge in Jordan to raise funds to educate needy children living in some of the worst slums in Asia. This is her story ...
Standing in the shiny new Bahrain City Centre mall a week after my return from the charity trek I undertook in Jordan in aid of the UK charity Friends of The Citizens Foundation (FTCF), I felt an overwhelming desire to run and hide from the cacophony of sounds that assaulted my ears and the array of lights that dazzled my eyes.
Five days in the desert can do that to you, you know.
After answering the "call of nature" behind bushes, showering from a jerry can and sleeping out in the open on stony ground, you'd have thought that I'd have been delighted to be back in "civilisation", with a flush loo, hot water shower, sleep-ezee mattress and roof over my head.
But, somehow the silence of the desert, the serenity of a cloudless, moonlit, starry sky and the stark beauty of mountain after mountain had me longing once again for the simpler, quieter, calmer existence I had enjoyed for those few days.
No newspaper, no television, no constant demands from my mobile phone, no dog walking, no shopping, no juggling chores, no conflicting demands on my time, no mind numbingly boring training; just a foot slogging hike through water-filled wadis, across endless rocky, hot desert terrain, up steep, mountainous paths ending finally in hundreds of steps at Petra (Training note to self: stair-masters are not the same as the real thing!).
Had you asked me in March when I signed up for the trek - a spur of the moment decision when I was feeling down following a brief hospital stay - "What do you think the trek will be like?" I'd have probably used words like tiring, strenuous, exhausting. Certainly not calming, restful and uplifting. For, strange though it may seem, that's the effect the trek had on me.
While at the end of each day I was definitely relieved to sit down and rest after a hard day's hiking, and there were occasions when I thought my lungs would explode, the hours of training in the months leading up to the trek had paid off and I was rewarded with virtually no aches and pains and thankfully no blisters to speak of. Instead, I relished in the opportunity to empty my mind and clear it of the clutter of my every day life as I plodded along for kilometre after kilometre behind my Bedouin guide.
Often we walked in silence, alone with our own thoughts. Occasionally we engaged in a conversation about the Bedouin way of life, the history behind the route we were taking and the flora and fauna around us. Mostly I concentrated on taking care to follow closely in my guide's footsteps, picking my way gingerly through the rocks while he strode confidently ahead, years of experience guiding his way.
And it was just me and him, stumbling through the rocks for up to eight hours a day, conversing in, I'm ashamed to say, more broken English than botched Arabic. I'd originally signed up to do the trek with a group from FTCF. Unfortunately, during the summer the main contingent had changed their plans and wanted to postpone their trek.
Not one to put things off, I decided to march on ahead, confiding only in my long suffering husband and a colleague that I was going it alone, afraid that my friends and family would try to stop me going. Stupid? Probably! Foolhardy? Definitely! An additional challenge? You bet! For there'd be no-one to compare aches and pains with, no-one to share stories with to pass the time, no-one to urge me on; just me and my own determination and resolve.
I'd raised £4,500 (BD2,727) for FTCF to help in their quest to build schools in Pakistan. My supporters were expecting me to hike in Jordan and that's what I was going to do!
The day of my departure dawned and I was a bundle of nerves. Travelling solo meant I had to take along extra kit as there'd be no scrounging the odd plaster off of a fellow hiker should I need it.
I packed and re-packed my backpack, checking and double checking I had everything, trying to put things in a sensible order so I could grab what I needed easily; anyone would have thought I was about to mount an assault on the North Face of the Eiger, not a few mountains and wadis in Jordan.
My anxiety and nail-biting peaked when on the first night, following a flight delay, I ended up staying overnight in a hotel close to the trail head instead of camping and the following morning there was no sign of my guide, Abdullah, or driver, Na'eel, at the appointed rendezvous time.
Was this a bad omen, a warning of disasters to come?
Standing at the top of a mountain pass near the ancient village of Shobak the next morning readying ourselves for the five-day hike to Petra to come, my breath was taken away by the awe-inspiring view and my fears were quickly banished.
This was going to be amazing I thought as I confidently strode off down the mountain - and promptly fell flat on my face!
That early stumble aside, the days unfolded in a familiar pattern; I woke in the dead of the night when the moon rose and counted stars rather than sheep in an attempt to grab some more restorative sleep; sneaked off at day break before the rest of the camp stirred for a "shower" behind a bush and in full view of the odd passing goat; enjoyed open air "room service" - ranging from simple eggs, flat bread and piping hot tea for breakfast to a three-course gourmet, Bedouin-style meal for dinner, all expertly prepared by Abdullah and Na'eel on open fires; slathered myself with sun lotion before breaking camp and pondered, as the heat rose and the dust clung to my skin, why I'd bothered to shower in the first place; stomped through wadis, across deserts and up mountains for hour upon hour for around 75 km, punctuated by the occasional photo stop and tea break (unfortunately I lost my pedometer half way through the first day so I'm unsure of the exact distance - my muscles indicate it was far enough); collapsed each night at a new camp, set up by our "advanced party" - Na'eel, and endlessly faffed around with my kit while supper was prepared; spun increasingly bizarre yarns into the dead of the night seated around a crackling fire while taking rear-guard action against mosquitoes and flies; was welcomed by the friends and family of Abdullah and Na'eel with an endless supply of sweet Bedouin tea; ditched my tent after the first night in preference for sleeping under the stars in true Bedouin style, protected from the chill by my sleeping bag and with one eye and ear open for any marauding animals; and became something of a celebrity to the Bedouin children we met along the way who were drawn to me like magnets when word got out I had pens, paper and stickers in my bag.
Arriving in Petra at the end of my trek, somewhat foot-sore and weary but with a huge smile on my face, a camera full of photos and a brain crammed with memories, I half expected a welcoming committee.
There was none, unless you count the hordes of tourist crawling over Petra and the cries of stallholders along the route urging me to buy their wares.
Suddenly reality bit and I felt a wave of fatigue washing over me and a quiet desperation to get away from the chaos that confronted me; just let me hold on to my peaceful state of mind for a few minutes longer, please, my internal voice screamed.
A mix of emotions crowded my mind; relief that I'd got to the end of my trek relatively unscathed (if rather sleep-deprived, that dammed moon!), sadness that a wonderful trip was coming to a close, happiness at the friendships I'd made along the way, breathless anticipation for the glorious shower that awaited me, and satisfaction that I'd done what I'd set out to do all those months ago - given a little bit back and had some fun in the process.
Of course, I couldn't have done it without the support of an army of family and friends and generous donations from numerous well wishers in Bahrain and beyond. You know who you are, a heartfelt thank you to you all; the children in Pakistan will be forever grateful. And, if the opportunity should come along for you to take up a challenge as I did, grab it with both hands and run with it, you'll be surprised at what you can do. But, I'm sorry, I hope you'll understand if I don't see you on my next challenge because going solo turned out to be a blessing in disguise!
l Anyone wishing to donate to Sarah's Trek Jordan appeal for Friends of The Citizens Foundation can do so up to January 29, 2009 at www.justgiving.com/sarah_clarke.
